The Second Deviation
by Moonshayde
Summary: Timing becomes everything when Castiel approaches Sam and Dean with a new mission: find the elusive Watcher before the demons do. As the brothers puzzle over the Watcher's importance, they must contend with Dean's next significant change. Castiel offers his help, but Sam devises his own plan on how to protect the Watcher and save his brother. Part of the Playing the Angel series.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This series is obviously AU, but will follow show canon as closely as possible. I would say this is the story that starts to deviate a bit further from canon, but I still work to keep it as close as possible. To best understand this story, I would recommend starting with _The Genesis Variant, Cleanliness is Next to Godliness, Appearances Can Be Deceiving, Unforeseen Complications_, and _The Waiting Game_. They are all gen stories. If you want a shippy slant, there are Dean/Jo shorts or versions-_Performance Anxiety, Midnight Run,_ and _The Quiet Outsider_-but they are not necessary to follow the series.

Disclaimer: _Supernatural and its characters are the property of Eric Kripke and co. All other characters, the story idea and the story itself are the sole property of the author. This is for entertainment purposes only; no financial profit has been gained from this story. This story is not mean to infringe upon the rights of the above-mentioned establishments._

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**Chapter 1**

Castiel stood atop the hill, surveying the woodland at his feet. He didn't flinch when he heard Uriel flutter into place beside him.

"Dixville?" Uriel let out a disapproving huff. "Why are you here? We have more important issues to deal with."

"This is where Dean Winchester's problem started." A dusting of snow coated the greens and browns of the trees below, giving it a frosted sheen. He had always enjoyed watching snow from afar, and appreciated the opportunity to view it more intimately. It was a shame this wasn't a pleasurable retreat.

Another haughty puff beside him. "You spend far too much time worrying about that human."

"It's our job."

"Our job is to do the will of Heaven."

"That's what I'm doing."

"If you say so."

Castiel glanced to the side, but did not break his concentration. "What is truly bothering you?"

Uriel didn't answer. He stared out into the trees, past the snow covered tops, to the town protected by magic nearly as old as they themselves. Castiel wondered about that magic, how the people here had come to know it, and what could be hidden that was important enough to warrant the exclusion of both demons and angels. What lay inside had to be significant.

The minutes ticked by, lengthened by the silence, until Uriel finally spoke. "Winchester's problem didn't start here."

Now, Uriel had Castiel's attention. "What do you mean?"

"Don't play innocent." The tone of Uriel's voice was harsh. "You know what I mean."

The accusation in Uriel's voice spoke volumes. Strange feelings burned inside, perhaps of shame or embarrassment; he couldn't tell. He tried to cast them away. Emotion had no place in his being. Uriel's understanding was faulty.

"You know what happened, Castiel. Denying it will not absolve you."

Castiel turned away. "No. You're mistaken."

"I've felt it. You've felt it." Uriel leaned in closer and chuckled. "It's your fault."

And with that Castiel thought of a place as far from Dixville and Uriel as possible. In an instant, he was half way around the world, leaving Uriel, his laughter, and his accusations far behind.

xoxoxo

The Impala raced down the highway.

"We're not going to make it," Sam said.

Dean glanced at the evening sky. Clouds rolled in, wide and dark, but even the thick cover couldn't hold back the power of the full moon. He wiped his face and stomped on the accelerator.

"We'll make it."

The Impala roared into Brighton. The New Jersey night was cold and blistery, despite the dense cloud cover. Dean glanced at the time. Five-thirty. Dammit. Dusk was already long gone. There was no way they were going to get there in time. They hadn't even had a chance to change out of their suits.

Sam was already on the phone with their contact. From his nods and desperate glances out the window, Dean knew the fun had already begun.

"Connor said there was a were sighting down on Fifth."

"Casualties?"

Sam shook his head. "Shop owner shot it. Wherever it is, it's wounded."

"Good. It'll leave a trail. Eyes sharp."

While Sam kept lookout, Dean cut through the back roads on the way to the downtown area. The old buildings had seen better days, buckling under the weight of years of neglect. They cast shadows a mile wide. The perfect hiding place for a wounded werewolf in need of cover.

"There," Sam said, pointing to one of the nearest alleys. "A trail of blood leading into the back."

The blood trail could be anything: gang war gone badly, a mugger's victim, some homeless dude in a bad way, or it could be their monster.

Dean cut a sharp turn to the right and squeezed into the nearest on-street parking. He loosened the tie around his neck, going to rip it off and grab something more suitable, when he saw Sam bolt out of the passenger side and run down the alley.

Perfect. He swung the door open, slamming it, before he ran after Sam.

"I got this end, you go around to the other side," Sam called back.

Since when did he become boss?

Dean wiped the sweat from his brow and doubled around to the previous alley. As he started down the narrow corridor, he slowed, keeping his eyes peeled for any flash or claws and teeth. He wasn't about to become a Happy Meal for some deranged werewolf.

The old stone and brick buildings cast long shadows that the light from the street couldn't touch. Like a tunnel, he felt sucked in, hollow, creeping into the cold. A prickle inched up his back. He felt eyes on him.

Dean tightened his grip on the gun hidden under his suit jacket.

Despite the dark, Dean was aware of many things. The chattering of something small darting between buildings. Wind howled into the alley, funneling small tornadoes of paper and garbage. The clank and groan of the pipes in the distance.

His steps became more measured.

Dean was itching to put a bullet in the werewolf's heart. They'd only just gotten the call, and though he didn't know this Connor guy well, being one of Sam's summer contacts, Dean could tell right off the bat the man's senses were on. Classic werewolf case. Just a few hours away. How could they not say yes?

And he was going to be the one to bag it. Prove to Sam he could still hack it.

Ahead, he saw the end of the long alley narrowing into a collection of trash barrels and cardboard sandwiched between large disposal bins. There was a lone light above, hanging over the backdoor to what smelled like a Chinese place.

A homeless man was lost among the boxes, and scooted away from him, scowling as he pulled the closest box and blanket near. The perpetual frown on his face reminded Dean of cracked leather.

They couldn't have people out here. That was as good as free appetizers for Wolfy.

He winced as a gust of wind sent a chill over his back.

"Hey," Dean called to the man. "I give you a twenty, will you get lost?"

The man glared at him, muttered something that sounded like a string of choice swears, and rolled back over.

The clang of an empty can caught his attention. Dean turned his head, not all that surprised, but relived to find a cat mulling around an overturned trashcan.

All around him everything seemed quiet. Too quiet for his liking. The werewolf had to be close. Even here in the city, nature had a way of knowing when something wrong and unnatural was nearby. Maybe there was something to all that cosmic mumbo jumbo.

Dean fought back the urge to call for Sam and kept his measured pace down the alley. As he moved closer, the cat hissed at him before it darted into the shadows. Dean shrugged it off and pressed on, careful as he stalked past the homeless man's cluster of boxes.

The first blow caught him without warning.

Dean slammed into one of the trashcans. A pain to his stomach, like a sucker punch to the gut, radiated outward up and down his limbs. He immediately thought of the werewolf, and his heart, and tried to catch his breath long enough to shoot.

Nothing was there. He squinted, pushing back the pain as he searched for the werewolf. Damn thing couldn't be invisible.

The wind on his back, once cold and stinging, switched to a burning heat. Dean felt a cold sweat break out across his body.

Hell no. He wiped his face and fumbled for the wall for support. This couldn't happen now.

This had been solved. The damn wings hadn't been around for months.

The pain grew, rippling out in waves. Dean gritted his teeth, unable to stop the groans that slipped out of his mouth. One by one, his back muscles started to spasm, harder and more intense than the first time any of this happened. The pain spiked down his arms.

Dean was a stranger in his own body as he watched his fingers curl, the gun dropping from his now useless grip. As the pulsing grew, he knew something was wrong—very wrong. When the wings had come back last time, it had been painful, but without the intense ripping and tearing.

The wings were pushing through again, carving through the muscle, the skin.

His bones popped and cracked.

With the second blow, he crashed into the nearest brick wall.

Dean yelled as the razor-sharp feathers sliced through his back, shredding through the layers of muscle. His breathing, now shallow, came out in rapid pants, moving in tune with the rhythmic pulsing below the skin.

Tiny gray spots began to dot his vision.

Stay awake, he told himself, ruminating on the thought until it was a chant. He focused on it, and only it, blocking out the pain and icy hot flares up and down his back.

One final quick rip and the wings spilled out, wild and uncontrolled. The force of the explosion nearly sent him reeling back. Dean grabbed at one of the trash barrels and steadied himself.

The weight pulled him backwards. And down, down.

Stay awake.

Two shots rang through the back alleys. Dean remembered the werewolf.

Sam.

Using the wall for support, Dean slid his hands along the surface. The gray spots turned to black, and there was a weird tunneling sound in his ears, like being sucked underwater.

Dammit. No way was he going to pass out.

Grinding his teeth, Dean pulled himself up, forcing his feet to keep moving forward. The heat was lifting, leaving behind a steady throbbing, an ache that went down to his bones.

He felt bigger.

"Sam."

The name came out weak, and for a brief moment, Dean felt lucid. He turned his head, eyes locking on the homeless man. The man stared at him, his wrinkled face two shades too pale. A tremble rocked his hands.

It occurred to Dean this was a problem, but the thought left him as the wings flapped, sending another shot of pain down his back. He screwed his eyes shut, vaguely wondering why the hell it hurt so much this time, and centered what was left of his energy on staying conscious.

Footsteps. Running.

There was a werewolf out there.

Sam. He needed to get to Sam.

The end of the alley was a few feet away. If he could make it around the corner, get out of sight, and find Sam, they could…

He brought his hand to his face and tried to rub away the haziness that was settling in his head.

Stay awake.

Dean slumped against the wall.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Sam lowered his gun and did quick scan of the unmoving man at his feet. Two shots to the heart. The werewolf was deader than dead.

He didn't have time to worry about the body. Someone would have heard the gunshots.

And he'd heard Dean's scream.

Sam shoved the gun between his back and waist band and started to book toward where he and Dean had split. The thought that the werewolf could have attacked Dean before it had reached him crossed Sam's mind, but he tried not to dwell on it. The alley was just ahead.

He skidded to a stop.

Dean clung to the brick wall of one of the older buildings as if he were hanging on for dear life. His face was unnaturally pale, eyes glassy, but that wasn't what concerned Sam the most.

The wings were back. Not just back; they had doubled in size.

Sam instinctively went for his gun. "Dean?" he called, edging closer.

Dean's head bobbed up. He seemed to stare right through Sam.

"Dean?" Sam didn't like the faraway look in his brother's eyes.

At this point, Sam didn't know how much of Dean was there, at least consciously.

He let his gaze travel up. The wings, thicker and hardier than before, arched over Dean's shoulders. If you followed the wing line, they matched the length of his back and legs, ending at the ankles. The former, smaller set had been deadly enough. These were cold. Militant.

Sam was convinced now more than ever that whatever was happening to Dean was going to turn into something big.

"Sam," he said hoarsely. "That you?"

"It's me." Sam gave a nervous glance around. This place could be flooded with people at any time. "Dean, put them away."

"What?" Dean cringed and pulled away, pressing his face to the wall.

Sam didn't need this right now.

He rounded around Dean, stooping to pick up his brother's dropped firearm. As he slipped it inside his suit jacket, he realized there was a man hiding in the boxes across from them.

They had a witness. Dean's wings were out in full view, and they had a witness.

"Get rid of them," Sam hissed. "What are you doing?"

Dean leaned against the wall, his eyes slipping shut. Sam felt his heart-rate quicken. Dean couldn't pass out now. Sam gave him a little shake.

"Dean, come on."

"Stay awake," Dean managed to say.

"Yeah, exactly. But put them away."

"They're stuck," Dean muttered. He slumped against the wall. "I'm tired."

Sam stowed away both their weapons, and swallowing down the crawling feeling that was marching up and down his arms, he went to help his brother.

Careful not to touch the feathers, at least the best he could, Sam slipped his arm under Dean's arms and beneath his wings to hoist him up. That was easier said than done. The extra weight from the wings kept holding them down, and Dean's lack of effort wasn't helping.

"We have to get out of here," Sam told him. "Come on, cut me some slack. You need to help."

Dean let out a grunt as he tried to right himself on his own two feet. He was marginally successful—Sam felt the pressure ease from his burning shoulders—but it wasn't enough for them to get out quickly. The wings were too big to hide under a jacket, and they had demolished Dean's suit, leaving ragged shreds of material hanging everywhere. That wasn't counting the new chunks of Dean Sam kept seeing scattered all over the alley.

In other words, there was DNA evidence all over the place.

The homeless man was still staring.

He hated to do this, but he didn't see any other options.

"Not one word of this or I will find you, you understand?" Sam told the man.

He nodded mutely.

When he was positive the man got the message, Sam started the arduous task of dragging Dean back down the alley. At this point, he didn't even know how he was going to fit Dean into the car. Scratch that. He didn't even know how he was going to get to the car. The Impala was parked on the street. It was only early evening. The streets would be busy.

There was no time for a glamour spell. No time to hide in the alley.

Dean's feet started to drag.

Sam gave him a sharp tug. The action snapped Dean's head up. He blinked and seemed awake, but his eyes told a different story. Dean's mind was someplace else.

"Focus," Sam told him.

"I didn't pass out this time." Dean said it like it was a true accomplishment.

"We need to get to the Impala. Are you sure you can't just…make them disappear?"

"Dude, it's like all over me."

Sam dropped the conversation. He wasn't going to get anywhere with Dean right now.

Summoning everything he had in him, Sam pulled, dragged, and practically carried Dean toward the open street. The Impala was parked right by the curb, only a few feet back from the entrance into the alley. If he could toss Dean in the back and shut the door, they would be good.

In the distance, he heard the sirens blaring. It was going to have to be all or nothing. They were going to break for the Impala.

Sam broke into the street and shoved Dean at the Impala. His brother hit the door with a thud, but the wings propped him up. Dean fumbled a bit to try to right himself, but whatever sense of balance he once had was gone. Sam realized they were only attracting more attention this way; a few people across the street slowed, and all around him Sam heard the starts of whispers.

Sam ignored them. After he ripped the back seat open, he grabbed Dean and stuffed him inside. The wings protested and started flapping up a storm, but Sam didn't care, even as the feathers butchered his arms. Dean was going to fit into the back seat even if Sam had to snap the wings in half.

Feathers flew everywhere while Sam's own blood ran free. People had stopped now. And were staring.

Close enough. Sam slammed the door.

Dean let out a painful yelp, but his own fogginess seemed to damper the reaction Sam would have normally expected. Sam let that thought stew while he hoped into the driver's seat and peeled away from the scene.

"You okay?"

Dean didn't answer.

Sam hit the accelerator and aimed straight for the nearest road out of Brighton.

xoxoxox

By now, the leading roads were dark. No one was leaving Brighton; the majority of traffic drove into the city. Sam used that fact to his advantage.

He bolted out of the fringes of town, following the curves of a long highway as he surveyed the surrounding countryside. Along the sides of the road were the occasional farmhouse, random homes, and rundown mills. None of them seemed abandoned enough for his liking, so he kept driving.

"Dean?"

When all he got was silence for an answer, Sam glanced into the rearview mirror. All he could see were feathers poking up and down, as well as sideways, effectively blocking any view of his brother or the open road behind them.

They couldn't go on like this. Sam knew they would have to stop eventually for gas or to eat or even to rest. They were only ten minutes out of Brighton, and though Sam had escaped to some of the nearby country, they couldn't avoid hitting more populated areas. He didn't even want to think about what would happen if a cop slowed them down, or what was going around down in the alleys in Brighton this minute.

He and Dean were screwed.

Sam glanced down at his cell phone which was bouncing around on the passenger seat. He shook his head and thought better of it. He could handle this himself.

There was a turn in the road up ahead, and Sam brought the Impala along the curve, surprised to find a field to his right. The field had seen better days, broken with wild patches of brown grass, but behind it Sam saw the side of an old, decimated barn house.

That could work.

Sam brought the Impala into a sharp turn and started to roll over the bumpy field. The mud had frozen from the drop in temperatures, causing the Impala to rock and groan in ways Sam knew had to be bad at this speed. What Dean didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

Ahead, the farm house beckoned them closer, and when Sam pulled the Impala in front of its worn doors, he could appreciate its size. There was more than enough room for Sam to shove Dean inside, and out of view, along with the Impala if it had to come to that.

Of course, a place like this would be one of the top spots the police would look if they ever linked the two of them to the crime scene back in the city.

Sam would worry about that next.

He parked the car and jumped out, opting to try to drag Dean out of the backseat rather them nudge him into doing it himself. As long as he could find him.

The backseat was nothing but a sea of feathers. Through the mass, Sam thought he saw one of Dean's boots, but that wouldn't help him. Cringing, Sam reached his hand inside, biting down the pain as his arm was mangled again, and searched for Dean.

An arm.

Sam pulled hard, using Dean's arm to give him some distance. Every time he gave Dean a yank, one of the folded wings would smack against the frame of the car, preventing Dean from moving further.

"Come on, Dean. Help me out."

As he tugged Dean, first the feathers, then the tops of his wings, spilled out of the car, until Dean tumbled into a heap on the ground.

He wasn't moving.

Sam rolled Dean onto his back. The wings contorted and folded in unnatural ways as the weight of Dean's body pressed down on them. Open, glassy eyes stared ahead skyward, but there was no recognition in them. Sam pressed his fingers to Dean's neck, sighing with relief when he felt a pulse. Faint breath escaped his open mouth. It was as if Dean was deep into a trance.

Sam wasn't sure if that was better or worse than having him pass out instead.

Either way, Sam was tired of being out in the open. He grabbed Dean's arms, no longer hidden beneath the wings, and pulled him head first toward the tattered barn doors. Sam glanced over his shoulder, careful not to bump into the frame itself, as he slid Dean between the open door and out of view.

The barn had seen better days. Plenty of old hay lined the dirt inside, dry and brittle in some spots, while damp in areas where the run off from the field had seeped inside the barn. Sam dragged Dean to the largest pile of dry hay that he could find. When Dean was secure, he swung the doors open to their fullest capacity and backed the Impala in at an angle. He couldn't help but smile when he managed to fit the entire car into the confines of the barn.

Sam took a moment to stare at his brother. The wings had seemed smaller when Dean had been jammed back into the car. Here, like in the alley, they had room to fan out. Just looking at them made Sam's stomach turn. At least Sam knew where all the extra food Dean had been inhaling had gone.

Knowing that fact made Sam even more uneasy. He couldn't guess what was going on in Dean's head right now, or what other physical changes had happened that Sam couldn't see.

Not even the wings moved anymore. Dean was so still he might as well be dead.

He would be okay. Sam would make sure of it.

After taking another glance at Dean, Sam rounded the Impala and stepped out into the chilly night air. He kept the door slightly ajar so he could keep an eye on his brother. What he was about to do, he'd rather do in private.

With a deep breath, Sam took out his phone and scrolled through his contacts. Bobby's number flashed brightly in front of him.

Bobby needed to know. With his vast library, he must have something rotting away on his shelves that could help Dean. The longer they kept the truth from him, the harder it would be when the truth came out.

Sam found something ironic about that statement. But he wasn't about to start thinking about how lousy his situation was right now.

Although he went to hit the number for Bobby, Sam wasn't all that surprised when his fingers found a different number instead.

She didn't even bother to answer her phone. She just appeared.

"This better be good," Ruby said.

"I wouldn't call you if it wasn't."

"You make a girl feel so wanted." Her attention had already shifted, and with a frown, she glanced over at the open barn. "What's in there?"

Sam found his hackles rise at Ruby's uneasy reaction. He filed it away, and focused on what was important. Ruby had a spell for everything. She would find a way out of this mess.

Without another word, he strolled over to the barn and opened the door wider. Ruby's reaction threw him.

She looked inside and all her demon cool was lost. Her eyes widened and she took a step back. When she turned to him, her glare was as sharp as her demon knife.

"You're kidding me."

Sam wished he was. "Can you help him?"

"Can I help him? Sam, I don't even know what he is."

Now it was Sam's turn to frown. "Are you saying you can't or you won't?"

"Way to read between the lines," she muttered. Her face softened when she approached him. "There's some intense magic at work in there. I know you can feel it, too."

"Angels." Sam had known it for months.

She nodded. "And I don't know about you, but if angels are involved, I am so out of here."

Ruby started to stomp off, but Sam caught her by the elbow, spinning her around. "You helped last time."

"Yeah, and last time I got tortured by Alastair."

"I know I'm asking a lot…"

"You are asking a lot. This is a distraction. We should be out hunting down Lilith's cronies, not babysitting Birdman."

Part of Sam knew she was right. This thing with Dean was a distraction and kept slowing them down. At the same time, he couldn't just abandon Dean. He wasn't himself. Hell had made him weak. Whatever was going on with Dean, this new issue just conflated what was wrong from the start.

Ruby sighed. "I know you care about him, and despite the fact I loathe his guts, I hate to see the rift between you, but let's face reality."

"And what's that?"

"_That?_" She pointed to Dean's unmoving body in the hay. "That's not your brother anymore."

Sam didn't want to consider that suggestion.

"He's still Dean. Something's happened to him that we need to fix."

Ruby let out a frustrated laugh. "No, Sam. He's not Dean. Whatever that is came back wrong or different. The angels made sure of it. It probably hasn't been Dean from the start."

He wasn't hearing this at all. Everything Ruby said had been his fear from the moment Dean had knocked on his motel room door.

"Dean came back from Hell. He's not going to be all sunshine and roses," Sam said, feeling the heat rise in his face. "The angels aren't exactly our friends. Why would they bother to change Dean?"

"No, the angels aren't exactly _your_ friends. Or mine." She shifted her weight to the side and crossed her arms. "Obviously, they're chummy with Dean."

"You were there with Anna. You saw them threaten Dean. If he were with them, they wouldn't have wanted to send him back to Hell."

"Fine. Stay in denial. See how that works out for you when he finds out what you've been doing and kills you in your sleep."

Sam wanted to lash out at her with all the anger and frustration stored inside. His fists balled. His jaw twitched from the tension. He didn't strike. He didn't do anything because deep down, he knew that she was right. One day, Dean would find out. Dean may tease him about being a freak, but he'd never left him willingly. If that ever changed, if he ever saw him as a monster, or worse, Sam wasn't sure what he would do.

"Then what about me?" he asked at last. "I have demon blood. I'm still me. Dean is the same."

"No, he's not. You're different. I thought we'd established that."

Sam stared at her, earning an impatient glare in return.

She rolled her eyes. "You're stronger than Dean. I've been grooming you to use your powers, but in the end it's all you. Your strength and your determination. You and I both know your brother never had the same stamina that you do."

All Dean ever wanted to do anymore was a run from a fight. He'd take on the ghosts and the goblins, but any mention of Lilith and he had a million other jobs lined up and ready to go. Sam hated to think Ruby was right, but the truth was Dean was too broken to fight off whatever was happening to him.

That didn't mean Sam would abandon him.

"What do we do?" he asked.

She shook her head, but whatever insult she wanted to say never made it to her lips. "Since you're being stubborn about this, I'll check to see what I have. This is big, Sam. I might have to cash in some favors. And I won't be pretty."

Sam nodded, knowing the consequences. "Do it."

Ruby didn't say goodbye. In a blink of any eye, she was gone.

Her disappearance left him feeling empty, a void he couldn't seem to fill even as he slipped back into the barn to be with Dean. His brother continued to stare blankly into space, unmoving, with his body a tangle of limbs and feathers on the hay stack.

_That's not your brother._

Ruby's words were like a virus, multiplying and invading every part of his brain. He prayed that she was wrong and that the cure would soon be in their reach. But like she said, he had to face reality, and in this case the reality seemed like it was too big for even him to handle.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Every muscle ached and throbbed.

Dean blinked. A film covered his eyes, leaving smudges of light over everything. He watched in silence as the lights streaked across his line of vision. If he concentrated on the lightshow, then the pain that rippled out of his back through the rest of his body didn't seem so bad. The lights were soothing.

He was slipping again. Dean screwed his eyes shut and opened them, trying to force the haze out. A shadow hovered over him.

Dean flinched. A current of unease pushed him back. The damn place smelled like hay and rotten eggs.

"Dean?"

Sam's voice sounded far away, small and hollowed out, like he was calling from the end of a long tunnel. A low buzzing drowned out the background noises Dean would have expected to hear. No TV. No radio. No sounds of traffic. No damn birds.

When Dean lifted his head to find him, the room tipped, earning him a horrible wave of nausea. Dean let his head collapse back onto the pillow.

Sam was shaking him.

"Dean, come on. Get up."

Another wave of rotten egg smell smacked his nose. Dean groaned and slapped his hand to his face. He spit the straw out of his mouth. Straw? What the hell?

The wings flapped with discomfort.

Oh crap. Right.

Dean tried to sit up straight, but his quick motions made the room tilt. Sam grabbed him by the forearms and tried to steady him as the weight of the wings pulled him back down.

The buzzing grew.

"Dude," Dean muttered, wrinkling his nose. "You stink."

"What?"

Dean shook his head and pushed Sam away. He could sit up himself. He wasn't a freakin' invalid.

Fighting the massive throbbing in his back, Dean sat down on the dry hay. The wings squirmed behind him, mashed into the pile of hay, straw sticking and mixed into the feathers. The skin lining of the wings itched where the straw scratched against it, and it took everything within Dean not to reach back and start preening the damn things.

But that wasn't the worst of it. Not only had the wings come back with a vengeance, but they also seemed to have robbed him of his vision as an added gift.

"The damn streaks won't go away." He swatted at them. The colors sure weren't soothing anymore.

"There's nothing there."

"What?" He cut through the light with his hands. Sometimes he thought he could hold them, squeeze the colors in his fist, but they would escape and zip away. His attention was on one that was zipping around like a drunk faery at a bachelor party.

He cringed and grabbed at his ear as a sharp whistle stabbed at his eardrum.

"Dean, hey." He thought he saw Sam snap his fingers, but no sound came. "Stay with me."

The whistle and the buzzing came together, joined by a few dozen whispers. At the same time, Dean turned toward Sam and cupped his hands over his ears.

"What do you hear?" Sam asked, barely audible over the clicks and whistles, buzzes and hums. A streak of blue and yellow zipped past his face. As the glow faded, Sam was left with darkness around him, like some perverted reverse halo.

Dean stared.

Sam didn't flinch under the weight of his stare, but Dean saw the discomfort in his eyes. He swore his brother tried to talk again. No sound came out. Just moving lips.

Dean shook his head and pressed harder against his ears. All the foreign noises came at once, urgent and desperate.

Somewhere in the noise he thought he shouted for it to stop. He thought he yelled at the top of his lungs. All he heard was the buzzing, the static, and nothing else.

The wings had broken him.

Sam was running. Away. He slid around the car to the barn doors and slammed them shut, disappearing into the dark.

Dean sat alone. The wings fanned out and curled in, creating a walled cocoon. The noises and light streaks kept pummeling his senses.

What the hell was wrong with him?

Xoxoxoxo

Sam slammed the barn doors behind him and entered the bitter winter night. Just as he feared, a car, headlights off, rolled toward the barn. He should be thankful it wasn't a cop car.

Connor's old Jeep bounced over the frozen bumps in the ground before stopping several feet away from the barn.

"Connor?" Sam called.

His friend cut the engine and jumped out of the Jeep. He was a little worse for wear since the last time Sam had seen him. His goatee grew wild, and the military fatigues he liked to wear were caked with dirt. A lone toothpick hung on his bottom lip. Connor strolled over to Sam nonplused.

"You jumped the case."

"We took out the werewolf," Sam said.

"Yeah, and then you split. What was up with that?"

Sam didn't have time for this. "Dean and I had to get out of there before the cops nailed us."

"I told you I had a contact in the force. I coulda taken care of that." He frowned. "What in God's name happened to your arms?"

Sam heard the unspoken fear in Connor's question. "I wasn't bitten, if that's what you're implying."

Connor grunted. "Yeah." He spit out the toothpick. "It's a pack, you know."

Sam frowned. This was the first he'd heard of a pack going wild in a city. "Are you sure?"

"Am I sure…" He grunted again. "Beasties are my specialty. Of course, I'm sure. It's a mini-pack. Not old or mature, and clumsy as all hell. Should be able to pick 'em off one by one easy."

Werewolves weren't complicated. Once you found what was driving them, it was simple to hunt them down and kill them. More predictable than vampires. That should make them easier to kill. It didn't make it easier for Sam one bit.

Connor could have wiped them out on his own.

"Why are you here?" Sam asked him, suddenly suspicious.

"I checked up where it all went down. Bloody mess," he said, and spit. "Though maybe the worst had happened, but your car was MIA. I checked all the usual nearby haunts for us hunters and saw the barn." Connor smiled, the first hint of happiness since he'd driven out, and was obviously pleased with himself. "Don't worry. I threw the cops off your trail."

That was a relief. Though, Sam was beginning to think handling the cops would be easier than dealing with a hunter. The thin barn wall separated an experienced monster killer from Dean, who, for all intents and purposes, looked the part of a monster.

"Where is this brother I never see?"

Sam kept his face blank. He knew there were some rumors circulating through the hunting community about Dean's miraculous rise from the dead, though he had done his best to keep any word on Dean's death under wraps. Even as he worked with Ruby all those months, he had fully intended on finding a way to bring Dean back. No need to announce Dean was dead in the first place. His conspicuous absence made it obvious enough.

"He's resting."

Connor nodded. Sam had seen this look about him before and didn't like it. He might respect Connor as a fellow hunter, and the occasional ally, but when his attention focused on new quarry, he could be beyond dangerous.

"He got torn up pretty bad, didn't he?"

Sam studied Connor's face, but found it unreadable. What had Connor found in the alleys? Dean had lost some blood, and skin and muscle fragments had clumped on the icy pavement. How Connor could tell that was linked to Dean, he wasn't sure. Did his contact at the force know something as well? No way could any DNA results have come through yet. There had been several witnesses to Dean's condition. Could he have cornered them? The old man in the alley? Sam hadn't had time to check the radio for any reports. God knew what was on the local news stations.

"If only," Sam finally said, adding a laugh. "His ego could use to be knocked down a peg." When Connor didn't laugh, Sam dropped the act. "Dean wasn't bitten, either."

"Hmm. Cause you know, there's no cure. Innocent or no, werewolves can't roam free."

"Yeah. I know. More than I'd like."

"Heard about that. Shame."

"Then let's leave it."

Another nod. Connor's eyes roamed to the barn doors. "I got some salves that might help with post-wolf hunts."

"Dean and I will manage."

"It's no trouble."

Sam laughed again. This time, he kept any mirth fully out of it. "You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd say this was an interrogation."

"Nah. You know me. Innocents and hunters. I leave them to their business. No need to be afraid unless you're hiding something." He paused and cocked his head. "You aren't hiding something, are ya?"

Sam stared stone-faced.

"Sometimes I wonder if there weren't some truth to those rumors Gordon spread round about you. But in the end, I seen in you. You're good people." His eyes bore into Sam. "Would hate for that to change."

"Now that _would be_ a shame."

"I know, right? So you won't mind me just popping in to check on your brother, see how he's doing. Fellow hunter and all. Would love to help."

Sam side-stepped to the front of the barn door to match Connor. "I'm going to ask you to leave."

There was no room to argue in Sam's demand. His fingers slid along his belt, hovering above the gun hugging the small of his back. Connor knew what Sam meant. His face never changed, but the light in his eyes dimmed until the warmth vanished. This was the face of an enemy.

"Right shame, Sam. That Texas job in July?" Connor whistled. "I knew then you were better than they say you are. Coming out of your brother's shadow. Don't throw that away now."

"I'm not in anyone's shadow," Sam said.

"You keep believing that and—"

The ground shook. When Sam turned, a bright white light streamed from between the cracks of the barn. His stomach bottomed out. Dean.

Sam rushed inside the barn with Connor on his heels. The light faded; small tremors rattled the frame, but within seconds eased into a near non-existent rumble. Sam's attention immediately went to the pile of hay near the back wall.

Dean was gone.

Connor appeared beside him, and Sam knew the other hunter was reading his face. The wall immediately went back up, though he feared Connor might have gotten a peak.

Sam didn't have long to dwell on it. Connor was already moving across the barn, stopping to pick up a lone feather the length of his arm. He turned to Sam and held it up.

"Just what are you into, Winchester?"


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The light circled around him, manic and crazed, while the whistles burrowed into Dean's skull. He tried to scratch them away, ignoring the pain shooting through his back as he dug at his temples, but the cacophony of sound continued to hammer at his brain. He screwed his eyes shut. It was as if a thousand people were trying to talk to him at once.

And then nothing but silence.

Dean blinked and looked up. Castiel lowered his fingers, dropping his arm to his side.

"Hello, Dean."

Dean could hear him perfectly. No buzzing. No funny lights smearing his vision.

"What did you do?" Dean asked.

"I trust your senses are working properly now."

Sure, his hearing and sight were tip-top, but not his poor abused back. A series of searing pains and knots trailed down his spine, and he felt like he was going to be sick.

"What was that?" Dean asked.

"Nothing to be concerned about."

Great. Cryptic as ever.

Dean pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the slight shake to his legs. The weight of the wings urged him back down, gravity tugging at the extra mass. He hadn't let them win before, and he certainly wasn't going to let them win now. With clenched teeth, Dean drew upon his inner strength and stood.

That's when he realized he wasn't in the barn with Sam anymore. The room was dim, but he could make out some details, like the rotting wooden panels, and some abandoned broken down machinery.

They were still in the country in some kind of shed or storehouse.

Dean didn't care about any of that.

"Where's Sam?"

"He remains at the barn with your hunter friend. We needed some space to talk privately."

Hunter friend? Dean didn't remember any of it. In fact, Dean was having a hard time remembering anything that had happened since the wings broke through in the alley. Sam had grabbed him, and they had left, somehow finding a barn, but that was all that was coming to him.

Behind him, the wings gave a flutter and expanded. He hated to admit the stretch felt good, and immediately his muscles unwound, becoming looser. Heat wafted off the wings, warming his raw back in soothing, comforting waves. There was an urge, more forceful than before, to just let it all go and give in. Dean wanted to give in. It felt right.

As Dean relaxed into the stretch, some of the nausea went away. A ripple of contentment washed over him, and for a moment, Dean was enough at peace to take a peek over his shoulder.

The wings had fanned out on either side, extended and full. The feathers looked longer, bigger, sharper, and it only took a second for Dean to realize the wings had nearly doubled in size.

Shock erased any feelings of contentment he'd had. Swallowing down the lunch that threatened to show itself, Dean stumbled to the wall and leaned on a rundown tractor for support.

"What the hell is happening to me?"

When he looked up, Dean noticed that Castiel was studying him and the wings in a way where Dean couldn't tell if it were awe or appreciation. Either way, he had a kind of creepy intensity that reminded Dean of stalker movies.

"Anyone teach you it's not nice to stare?"

Castiel's gaze shifted to Dean's face. "They're a remarkable creation."

"Glad someone thinks so. You're free to take 'em."

"Misplaced humor, as usual."

"Nice to see you, too. Guessing you're not here to kill me this time?"

He thought he saw Castiel flinch. "That was an unfortunate incident."

"For you, me, or Anna?"

"I came because you called."

Dean frowned. "I didn't call you."

"You did." Castiel glanced at the wings.

That was great. He was sending some kind bat signal to angels now. What the hell was that supposed to mean?

"You have many questions."

"What was your first clue, Sherlock?"

Castel let out a heavy sigh. "You know I don't understand all of your strange references." He shook his head and turned his back to Dean. "I see your wings have grown larger."

"Let's get one thing clear. They aren't mine. And how do you know? You never saw them the first time."

"I can tell."

Of course he could, which was fantastic. Nothing like having the world's least approachable angel digging into your soul on a daily basis.

"So, find anything else inside me?" Dean asked with a smirk. "What I had for breakfast? What I read this afternoon?"

"Yes." Castiel turned around to face him again, but remained impassive. "An egg sandwich with extra bacon. And you weren't reading the Playboy magazine. You were-"

"Okay, okay. We don't need the details." Dean was sorry he asked. Most of the time he couldn't tell if Cas was legitimately clueless or just had the world's weirdest sense of humor.

"You won't like what else I have to say."

The smile disappeared from Dean's face. So now it was business.

"I have been doing some research into your condition. There are some distinct patterns that I have found troubling."

Just the news Dean had been dreading. He and Sam had been doing their own research for months, trying to figure out what exactly had happened to him. They'd go back and forth with theories: some kind of transformation that happened while Dean was in Hell; some monster disease they hadn't discovered yet; angels fiddling with his body. None of them made any sense, and depending on the day, Dean found himself backing a different theory every shot. Sometimes he wondered if some freak had bitten him and changed him, while other times he swore it were the angels.

Sam didn't have a clue, though Dean knew the angels were first on his brother's hit list. Castiel had denied being part of this mess.

The sinking feeling grew in Dean's stomach. "I'm some kind a bird-thing, right?"

"You are not a bird," Castiel said. A small frown touched his face. "Why? Have you been experiencing avian impulses?"

"No." At least, he didn't think so. Dean didn't wake up every morning with the urge to eat worms or bugs or anything crawly. He didn't have the drive to fly around or preen the feathers or anything else that would make him shoot himself in the head.

"Then you are not a bird."

Dean breathed a sigh of relief.

"I'm afraid it's much worse."

"What the hell's worse than a bird?" Dean felt his face go cold. There was only one more possibility he could think of, and as far as he was concerned, it was far worse than a bird. "Angel. I'm a freakin' angel?"

"No, you are no more an angel than Sam is a demon."

"Okay, so then what?"

Castiel sighed. "I don't know how to say this without upsetting you more."

"Not instilling me with a whole lotta confidence."

"I was afraid of as much." He paused, and Dean had that creepy feeling Cas was studying the wings again. "The substance I gave you should have halted any further problems you're experiencing."

"The blue stuff?" Dean scowled, remembering how nasty the liquid had tasted. "That sure worked like a charm."

"It did work," Castiel said, sounding a bit defensive. "But I couldn't foresee all the different possible interactions. Though in your system, it must have had an adverse reaction to Anna's grace. This would explain why it stopped working as it should and the wings resumed their transformation."

"Okay, and so? That doesn't explain anything." In fact, it didn't explain how the hell this all started. "Just give me some more."

"I can't."

"Why?"

"What is done is done. One angel's grace reacts strongly to another's."

That didn't make any sense. So, angel grace was like oil and water. Big deal. Dean still didn't get what that had to do with him. The wing problem had gone on long before they'd met Anna. He'd been exposed to Anna's grace. So had Sam. So had angels and demons. None of them were growing extra wings.

"Cas…" He glared at the angel, noting the discomfort growing in his face. "Give it to me straight."

"It was an accident."

"Accident as in…"

"I…perhaps some of my grace transferred into you when I pulled you from Hell."

"Oh no. No, no, no."

Dean wasn't hearing this. There was no way Castiel's grace was breeding in his body, causing chaos. What did that even mean?

"I didn't realize," Castiel continued. "There is always a danger when interacting with souls in their purest form, but it was a small transfer. Insignificant."

"Insignificant my ass. I have wings!"

"I know. And I'm sorry."

Dean stared at him. "Sorry? Do you even get how much of a freak I am? These things keep popping out in public. This isn't something hunters are gonna understand."

"I am looking for an answer."

"I'll give you the answer. Yank out the grace and make me normal again."

"I can't."

"You can't or you won't?"

Castiel's expression darkened as he stepped closer. "Listen to me, Dean. Pulling you from Hell was difficult. It took our best resources to reach you. You are lucky to be here now. I would never intentionally change your genetic makeup."

Dean didn't like the sound of that. "What are we talking here? Is this permanent? Am I gonna start sprouting a beak or claws?"

"You are not a bird. Your fascination with birds is strange."

"Then explain the wings. They're real, and I don't see you packing a down pillow on your back."

"I'm not certain, but my understanding is that once in your body, my grace could only express itself under the limits of tangible form."

Dean wiped his face and shook his head. "Explain it to me like I'm five."

"I am energy, Dean. Pure energy. I am made of material that you could never see or comprehend. To have my grace in your limiting physical form…the grace has to adapt. As it creates, it also must take on tangible, physical forms. In your case, it took on the form of wings, not made of only light and energy such as mine, but also with something that suits the species of this planet. In part, it has taken on a form that you seem to associate with birds."

"Awesome."

"It seems as though exposure to Anna's grace caused my grace to become active once again, counteracting the substance I had given it to you to dampen the affects. The interaction only aggravated the metamorphosis in your body and accelerated it."

The wings twitched as if to make their point. Dean didn't need a reminder they were there.

Sawing them off was starting to become more and more attractive.

He tightened his grip on the discarded tractor. Whoever owned it or had owned obviously didn't have a sense of craftsmanship. The tractor hadn't seen use in years, and from the part of the engine that was exposed, Dean's best guess was a broken crankshaft. Shame. It was an easy fix.

Why couldn't his problem be an easy fix?

"Dean."

The wings drooped behind him as he bowed his head. There was no getting out of this. The wings weren't going away, not on their own, and the more he fought them, the stronger they became. There was no way he could keep them a secret forever. People would find out. Bobby would find out.

He couldn't believe he felt this way, but thank God his dad was dead. He never wanted his dad to see him like this.

But there was one thing he had to know for sure.

"Just level with me, Cas. Is this for keeps?"

Castiel regarded him thoughtfully. "I don't know if it is permanent or not. I am more concerned with how my grace became active the first time. It had remained dormant before some outside element activated it. I can feel a lingering presence, but have been unable to determine who or what caused your change."

Dean might be a mess, but that didn't mean he missed a beat. "You think someone intentionally did this to me?"

"Yes. I haven't discovered who, but I will find out."

Castiel's grace had been with him since he came back from Hell. Dormant. Insignificant. Whatever. The fact was someone had gone around messing with his insides to make Castiel's grace go creation station. That someone wasn't Cas. So who the hell was it?

"Who would want to make me a poser angel?"

That was the million dollar question. From the vacant look on Castiel's face, Dean knew the angel didn't know either.

"I promise you that I will find out who is responsible for your change. In the meantime, it's important that this conversation stays between us."

"And Sam."

"I'm not sure Sam is the best person to know this information."

Dean felt the wings bristle. Okay, so Sam might not be the best with truthfulness. While Dean was still pissed he'd been lying to him about using his freak powers while he was in Hell, he didn't think keeping any more secrets from Sam was the best way to go. Sam would just nag him to death anyway.

"It's _Sam_."

"I know. This is the same Sam who has been working with a demon for several months."

"He ditched Ruby."

Castiel said nothing.

His stomach turned. "Sam did ditch Ruby, right?"

"I'm asking you to be careful around Sam. We still don't know what Azaezal's entire plans were. You must use caution, but…but there are other reasons." Castiel turned his head, almost ashamed to look at Dean. "Heaven won't take this transgression lightly," he added under his breath.

Dean's thoughts immediately went to Anna. Uriel, and even Cas, had been militant in their pursuit in bagging her. If they had such a hate-on for a fallen angel, what would the powers that be think of Castiel's accident? Of him? Uriel was already Dean's least favorite angel, and he knew that the feeling was mutual. If Uriel and his other wackados got word of what happened, Dean had no doubt he'd be next for the hit squad.

Not only was he a freak on Earth, but also Heaven. That was perfect.

"I will handle my brothers," Castiel said, answering his unspoken question. "In the meantime, I have a favor to ask of you."

Dean straightened and released the tractor, despite the pain in his back. A favor? He should have known better. Cas never came by for a social call. There was always something. Always.

Castiel didn't give him a chance to ask.

"I have something I need for you to do."

Dean scowled. "Shocker."

Castiel sent a mildly agitated glare Dean's way before continuing. "I came to help because I wished to help. Regardless, there is a person whom we call the Watcher. I need your assistance in finding him."

"Watchers? Heaven ripping off Buffy now?

"I don't understand that reference. I am not looking for a Buffy. Just the Watcher."

"Well, have fun."

Werewolves. Sam by himself somewhere. Wings that wouldn't quit. Dean had enough on his plate than to worry about a new mission that Cas conveniently had waiting for him.

"You don't understand," Castiel said. "This person was born with the ability to mask himself. Angels and demons cannot sense this person. I need for you to locate the Watcher so I can keep the demons away."

"What's important about this Watcher?" Dean knew he would regret the question the moment he asked, but dollars to donuts he was going to get wrapped into this anyway, wings or not.

"They are neutral. Their presence will help hold the balance in this war with the demons. We can't afford to have the demons find him and tip the balance in their favor. We have already lost many of the seals." Castiel sucked in a deep breath. "I've helped you. Now it's your turn to help me."

"Is this what this is about? I'm indebted to you or something?"

Castiel's face puckered with a wounded frown. "No. No, of course not. I didn't mean it in that way."

"Sounds like you came by to dangle the truth in front of me so you can have me run your errands without getting caught."

"You know that is untrue."

"Is it?"

Castiel took a step forward, uncomfortably close, his piercing stare burrowing into Dean. "I risk myself conversing with you this way."

Dean studied Castiel's face, looking for any sign of understanding. Was he getting orders from his big bosses in Heaven? The angel was difficult to read, but there was something in his eyes, a spark that was almost human, and Dean found himself unable to disbelieve him.

He sighed. "Cas, man. You need to learn some better people skills."

"I'm trying."

Oddly enough, Dean believed him.

"This Watcher thing is a big deal, right?"

"I wouldn't ask more of you if it wasn't."

Dean gave a slight nod as he looked up to the ceiling. He was tired of this pissing contest between Heaven and Hell. Why did he and Sam have to keep getting caught in the middle of their mess?

He should say no. Refuse to do anything else. He had enough to worry about. He didn't need all this crap. Screw Heaven. God. Everything. Let the angels and demons deal with the problem themselves.

That was never going to happen.

"Since I know this'll be our problem eventually, might as well take care of it now," Dean muttered. "So how the hell do I find someone that can't be found?"

"Certain creatures are attracted to the Watcher."

"Monsters?"

Castiel nodded.

"Oh, super." Not only did they have to worry about angels and demons, now they had to deal with monsters high on supernatural catnip.

The werewolf incident suddenly made a lot more sense.

"I'll tell you one thing," Dean said, back to leaning on the tractor. "I'm finding no one with your baggage tacked onto me."

"I may be able to help you with that." Castiel waltzed right back into Dean's personal space. "But it is vital that if you experience any more changes, you call for me immediately.

Dean frowned. He didn't like how that sounded. What other changes could possible happen?

"I can handle it."

"I don't think you can."

"I did before." Dean gave the wings a little shake to prove his point. "So what if they're bigger. I got it covered. I had it covered way before you showed up."

Castiel stared at him.

Damn, Dean hated when he did that. It made him feel as small as a bug.

"Dean, this is important. Someone has activated my dormant grace in your body. You have undergone developments twice. You have begun to experience visual and auditory abilities. I cannot say what other changes might happen. We need to train you to focus to minimize your exposure."

Visual and auditory abilities. He was hearing voices? Dean went cold. The voices had to come from somewhere and he was beginning to have a sinking feeling from where. What other side effects would he experience?

"What else is going to happen to me?"

"I don't know."

"So-so…what the hell were those other wings? Training wings?"

"The changes you experience are directly related to the grace in your body. The more active and intertwined the grace is, the more changes you will experience."

"Oh, for God's sake…"

"Don't speak of the Lord that way."

Dean glared at Castiel, but kept his mouth shut. He was surprised to find the angel's face soften. Cas walked over to Dean, nearly in his face, and stared deep into his eyes. Dean leaned back, but not before Castiel placed an awkward hand on his shoulder.

"Clear your mind and relax. The wings on your back should adjust accordingly."

Dean sucked in a deep breath and closed his eyes. He shrugged his shoulders in a semi-circle so that the tension just rolled off his back. The wings responded, airy and light, not like the heaviness he had been packing for the last few hours.

He didn't know if Cas was messing with his head or pulling some angel mojo, but he could feel the stiffness evaporating. He felt good. He felt better than good. He felt like he was floating, and part of him wanted to soar as high as he could. Dean allowed the wings to arch, stretch, and extend any way they pleased.

Dean could fall asleep right there.

"How does it feel?"

"Hmm."

A stab of pain shot through his shoulder. Dean's eyes snapped open to find Castiel digging into his arm.

"What the hell?" Dean swatted his hand away.

"I need for you to focus."

"I'm focused."

"Reach as high as you can. See them as an extension of yourself. Let the movement guide you naturally."

There was nothing natural about this entire situation. Not only that, Cas was sounding an awful lot like Sam. The wings were a fascination to the both of them, which was just awesome. With Sam, it was nothing but curiosity. With Cas…Dean squirmed under his penetrating gaze. The way Cas was studying him made him feel like he was being appraised.

Creepy.

Of course, since Dean was plum out of options, all he had was Cas. He didn't trust the angels one damn bit, but even Dean had to admit there was something different about Castiel. He tried not to think about it, mainly because it screwed up his nice view of bad, very bad, and evil in the world. Call him crazy, but Dean thought Cas actually liked coming down to chit chat even if there was a job always attached to the visit.

This whole angels and demons and seals thing was messing with his head. The sooner Dean got this under control, the sooner he and Sam could find this Watcher and hit the road.

Sam. Poor kid must be freaking out.

Dean did as he was told and spread the wings as far and wide as he could. When he looked over his shoulder, he could finally see just how much bigger these were from the first pair, how they had a sharpness that the first pair hadn't. He was packing an army of Ginsu knives. Even he had to admit that was kind of cool.

"More," Castiel instructed. "As far as you can go."

He extended them further, until the skin that covering the wing bones grew taunt. The long stretch hit all the right spots, helping to unknot the muscles in his back one by one. He could have used this technique when the first suckers had sliced through his back. If only he had the space to do this more often.

He muttered under his breath. He couldn't afford himself to think that way.

"Good. You will need to continue to practice this. The more you interact with the wings, the easier it will be for you to control them."

He didn't want to control them. He just wanted the damn things gone.

"Now, bring them down at a slow pace."

Again, Dean followed Castiel's instructions and released the wings from the long stretch. Part of him was glad Sam wasn't around to see how much of an idiot he looked like.

But he had to admit, he felt so much freer.

Dean cracked his neck and let out a contented sigh as the wings folded behind his back.

"You are doing remarkably well," Castiel admitted.

"I've had some practice. Now all I gotta do is force 'em back in."

"Forcing them is not the correct method. You need to understand they are a part of you now."

Dean glared at him. Like that was going to happen.

"The more you understand that simple truth, the easier it will be for you to avoid embarrassing situations."

Dean imagined a future where he didn't think about the wings any more than he thought about driving or walking. Would he become like that? Would that make him a monster?

Castiel must have sensed Dean's fear. He rested his hand on Dean's shoulder and studied his face in way that was both intimidating and comforting. Dean swallowed hard.

"Have a little faith, Dean. Learn to trust. Now do as I tell you, and perhaps we can tame your wings into a state best suited for your human body."

* * *

_A/N: I had someone ask about me about Connor. He is indeed an original character and not in the series. Also, apologies for the slow updates. Real life is hectic._


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Sam didn't know how to reply to Connor.

The hunter stood in the center of the straw pile, silent, his hot breath turned vapor in the cold night air. Whatever his thoughts, Connor kept them quiet and studied the primary feather Dean had left behind. He frowned, twirling it by the quill.

Sam didn't have time for this. His mind spun with the various possibilities for Dean's disappearance and none of them were good. He had to get out of here and get in touch with Ruby. They had to track him down.

Connor walked to the Impala. Sam tensed as he opened the back door and poked his head inside. Even from where Sam was standing, he could see the mess that had been left behind-skin, blood, feathers-anything that had smeared across the Impala's leather seats in Sam's mad rush to get Dean out of the city. Most of it had hardened in the cold, but that wouldn't stop a hunter. Sam couldn't rely on it disappearing like last time. Not when neither of them knew exactly what was happening to Dean.

Connor took out a bag and started to take samples.

No way could he let Connor walk out of the barn armed with evidence of Dean's condition. Even if the hunter didn't know what he had, talk and rumors would start, which meant more undo attention heading their way.

Sam pulled out his gun.

"Gonna shoot me, Winchester?" Connor didn't turn his back. He collected a few samples and slipped them in his plastic bag. When he turned around, he didn't flinch, even as he stared down the barrel of Sam's gun. "I don't get what you're hiding, but it's big."

Connor didn't know the half of it.

"This could be seen as treason, ya know."

"We're all hunters. We all live by the code." Sam kept his gun steady despite the numbness creeping up his arms. "It's all about survival. You of all people understand that."

"Part of that code is not protecting the freaks," Connor said, twirling the lone feather. "You're either with us or against us. Which is it, Winchester? Friend or foe? Hunter or monster?"

Sam had come to accept the fact he was a freak. He and Dean had been freaks since the day their mother died. Hunting, robbed of a normal childhood. But there was no way he'd let any other hunter expose him or Dean as any kind of monster. They were the monsters.

Sam was not.

With a quick jerk, Connor cut the feather through the air and used its razor-sharp edge to slice through a molding hay bale. He pursed his lips and nodded, obviously impressed.

"Connor, I'm not going to ask you to leave twice."

He chuckled. "All those hunts together don't mean nothing, do they? You know, I'd heard of you Winchesters long before I met you. Quite the reputation." He leaned against the Impala like it was no big deal. "But, Sam, I gotta say. I'm starting to have my doubts about you. Maybe you're five fries short of a Happy Meal. I'm starting to wonder if this brother of yours ever existed at all."

"Oh, I'm real." Dean walked through the entrance to the barn wearing a smug smile. "Dean Winchester. In the flesh."

Sam could tell immediately that something was wrong. Dean's gait was stiff and unnatural, and there was no chill to his face. Even stranger, was the fact his suit was neat and clean, no shredding, no blood, no rips or tears.

Red flags were everywhere. Dean was using magic again. Sam was sure of it.

They would have words about that later.

By now, Dean had strolled over to the Impala and was leaning on it with a casual air, but a determined look on his face that spoke "hands off my car." Connor backed away, but remained nonchalant, wearing a smug smile of his own.

"So you're the other Winchester." His attention flickered to the door. "You have a funny way of resting."

"Jog in the fresh air." Dean sucked in a gulp of icy air. "Does a body good."

"In the middle of winter?"

"Gotta keep up my physique."

Connor didn't reply, but Sam could tell by the scowl on his face he wasn't the least bit convinced. Still, Sam lowered his gun. A shoot out wouldn't get them anywhere. Connor wouldn't try anything with two against one.

"Satisfied?" Sam asked.

"Hardly. I came to check on two fellow hunters. See if y'all were okay." He studied Dean. "I'd feel much better knowing you two weren't hurt."

Dean thumped his chest. "Fit as fiddle, right Sam?"

"If you want to call it that."

Dean glared at him.

Connor chuckled. "Righto. You won't mind then if I take a peak."

Dean jerked back as Connor leered at him. "What kinda friends you been making?" he asked, shooting Sam another glare.

Sam didn't break. He didn't think Dean knew how serious this was. If Connor found out the truth about either one of them, they were dead.

"Hunters gotta watch each other's backs." Connor snapped his fingers and kept his gaze level with Dean's.

"Whoa, Tiger. I never move this fast on the first date."

When Connor didn't reply, Sam was sure the two would end up in some kind of brawl. To Sam's surprise, Dean submitted. First came the suit jacket which he peeled off and tossed on the trunk of the Impala. Then, he unbuttoned his dress shirt and tossed it on top of the jacket. When he turned, there wasn't one single scar marring his back.

Sam frowned. Definitely magic.

Connor leaned back, the confusion in his eyes betraying his cool exterior. Whatever was on his mind he didn't share it, and instead crinkled the plastic bag in one hand and glanced at the feather in the other. Sam didn't know what he had expected. Maybe none of them really did anymore.

"Sam didn't want me to come in here to meet you." Connor's gaze never left the feather. "Turns out you weren't even in here to begin with. How does that work?"

"I snuck out."

"What was that white light?" He was now staring at Dean.

Crap. Sam knew that look.

"The headlights on the Impala were busted. They flashed off."

"You're lying."

Dean muttered and shook his head as he redressed, the laid-back air about him jarring Sam. "You're a walking lie detector?" Dean asked with a snort.

"Your mouth twitches when you lie. And when you're done talking, you laugh like a girl."

Any of Dean's defensive smartass facial expressions vanished, bringing the serious, borderline angry look that had been thrown at Sam on more than one occasion. He kept his stance somewhat casual, leaning onto the Impala, but he'd inched closer to Connor.

Connor knew it and wasn't about to back down. Sam knew him well enough.

"I'll say it again. What was the white light?"

If Sam didn't jump in now, things would get even more heated between the two. He took a deep breath. "Angels."

Connor whipped around, thrown off balance for the first time that night. "Come again?"

Dean's eyes darkened. "Sam…"

"Angels. They were angels."

"No such thing as angels."

"Yeah, that's what we thought, too," Sam said.

Connor turned to Dean and studied his face. "This true?"

Dean let out a reluctant sigh and threw his hands up in the air. "Freakin' Angels."

Connor looked down at the feather, his bag, and then to the Impala. His gaze locked onto Dean. Sam knew he was putting the pieces together and if they didn't act fast he might get the wrong impression of Dean.

"We found one, hurt, in town," Sam added quickly. "Brought it here. It died and we wanted to give it a ritual burial."

Connor stared at him incredulously. "And?"

"Damn things burst when they die. Or something," Dean added. He rolled his shoulders and, avoiding both Sam and Connor, kicked at the ground. Sam noticed he was leaning harder onto the side of the Impala.

"And you…"

"I went out the back. Couldn't stand it. Like being in a cage."

Connor was right. Dean had always been a lousy liar. He could play a good hand of poker, when he was setting up a con or just horsing around, but when they stakes were high, he folded like a pack of cards. While Sam never had seen any of this first hand, he knew from experience his brother couldn't lie well. He wasn't about to suddenly get better at it now.

So when Dean gave a convincing performance, Sam knew it wasn't a lie.

Like right now.

"I'm not buying this angel crap," Connor said.

"Then how do you explain the feathers?" Dean asked. "A harpy? Come on."

Sam put away his gun as Connor started toward the barn doors. He paused by the end of the Impala, once again studying the inside for any details or items he missed. When it was obvious he was done, he shrugged and opened the barn doors.

The angel story would work for now, but Connor wasn't known as a monster hunter for nothing. He'd analyze and research until he hit a brick wall. Then, he'd be back.

Sam wasn't looking forward to that day.

Connor stopped before leaving the barn and pointed his finger at them both. "I don't know what you Winchesters are hidin', but I'm gonna find out."

He turned and walked to his truck.

Neither Sam nor Dean said anything as he pulled away. The open door brought another gust of winter air into the barn, reminding them how brutal the night had become. When Sam realized Dean wasn't going to move, he went and shut the barn himself.

The cold remained.

Sam blew into his hands and rubbed them together. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, he was beginning to realize just how screwed them were.

"You're wearing Bobby's spell."

Dean gave a half-hearted shrug. "Battle wounds are kinky, Sammy."

"Yeah, whatever. What happened? How did you know Connor was here?"

"Cas mentioned it."

Castiel. Sam had thought so. Or, honestly, was afraid it might be their angelic interloper.

Sam set his jaw. He'd warned Dean that the angels were involved somehow. He knew it.

Ruby knew it.

He pushed aside his doubts. Dean was going to give him some answers.

The questions never reached Sam's lips. As he glared at Dean, he realized his brother remained cemented to the spot. He wasn't just leaning on the Impala. He couldn't stand without it.

"You're sick."

"Am not."

Sam crossed the barn and made sure the doors were closed. After he gave them a couple of shakes, he turned to Dean. "You can let them out."

"Nah, I'm good."

He was anything but good. Dean's illusion wavered, flickering in and out like a TV with bad reception. In those brief seconds, Sam saw the bags under his eyes, the static pallor of his skin, and the exhaustion leaking out of his body. The spell wavered again.

"It's wearing off," Sam told him.

"Yeah."

"You can't keep using it. Bobby warned you."

Dean glared at him. "Got a better idea? A fix? Because I'm all ears."

Sam wished he had. None of this was supposed to happen. The plan had always been for him and Ruby to stop Lilith and bring Dean back. All the twists and turns hitting them were taking them off track.

"Pop the trunk and get my stuff, will ya?"

Patches of Dean's suit started to fade and tear. Shreds of material stuck to his exposed back, while other blood-stained strips hung free, flapping in the breeze. Wincing, Dean began to peel off the ripped clothes.

Sam opened the trunk and grabbed Dean's duffel bag. When he tossed it to Dean, the spell had already worn off.

"What did Cas want?"

"He fixed what was broken," Dean said, making a motion to his head. He pulled down his new shirt.

"I think he missed a few things."

"Ya think?"

"I don't understand why he doesn't just fix everything."

Dean shrugged. "Some weird mojo thing. The scars are invulnerable or something."

"That's not what I meant."

"Yeah, I know."

An uncomfortable silence settled between them. Sam hated how the distance kept growing with each day, but he didn't have the luxury of trying to fix it right now. Dean would never understand anyway.

"Sam?"

Sam broke from his thoughts to regard Dean. "Yeah?"

"If I ever do something…weird, you'll stop it, right?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Promise me, Sam."

"I'll promise as soon as you tell me what's wrong."

Dean took a hard swallow and looked at the ground. "I ain't right, Sam. I don't know if I'll ever be."

Sam refused to hear this. "What did Cas tell you?"

Dean continued to stare at the ground, refusing to meet Sam's gaze. Defeated. He always looked so defeated. This time Sam could tell it was more than the weight of Hell on his shoulders. What haunted Dean ran much deeper.

And he wasn't sharing.

"You won't tell me."

Again, Dean remained distant as he looked away. Something had happened when Dean had disappeared. Sam didn't need a decoder to figure that out.

Then it dawned on him. "You know what's wrong. Castiel told you."

Dean sighed and shook his head. "Sam…"

"No, I want to know. It can't be as bad as having demon blood in you."

Finally, Dean's eyes locked onto Sam, burning with anger. "Something's messing around with me."

So Ruby was right. It had to be the angels. Angels had changed Dean. He probably hadn't been right from the start. All these months. Everything that had happened to the both of them. How much had the angels been involved? How much had Castiel been involved?

Dean must have read the unspoken question in Sam's face and he shook his head. "Cas wasn't part of it."

"How do you know?"

"I just know. Not intentionally, anyway."

Sam wasn't buying any of it. He might have only met Castiel briefly, the few times he appeared to both of them, but those meetings were enough to make Sam uneasy. He could see why Dean would latch onto Castiel. Even if Dean would never admit it, who wouldn't have some kind of connection to whatever saved them? And on the surface, the angel seemed to be decent. But what went on behind the scenes? Sam was torn between liking the angel and wondering what his agenda could be. Dean was plain blind.

"Why are you trusting them?" Sam finally asked.

"I don't trust those sons of bitches. They've been nothing but trouble."

"Yeah. Right. Connor was right. You're a lousy liar."

To Sam's surprise, Dean didn't bite back a lame insult. He shot him a deadly glare, but the turned to his bag, rummaging through the contents until he found a Snickers bar. The gnawing fear that something was seriously wrong with Dean started to creep back.

"Dean-"

"Whatever. Believe me. Don't believe me. Not my problem." He took a final swallow before tossing the wrapper in the car. "We got a job."

Sam jerked. "A job? We're already on a job."

"You mean the one we just royally screwed up?"

Sam rolled his eyes. They weren't going to start arguing about werewolves now.

"You gonna ask me or we gonna make goo-goo eyes all night?"

Sam crossed his arms. "What's the job?"

"There's this person," Dean said, "called a Watcher. This Watcher is some kind of middle man in the whole demon world apocalypse thing. We got to find him before anyone else does."

This was news to Sam. He'd never heard of any Watcher. Ruby had never mentioned it and neither had Bobby. "Where did you get this?"

Dean hesitated. "Cas."

Sam sighed. Of course. "So, we're working for angels now."

"Of course not. Let me ask you this. Do you want this…whatever it is to fall in with the demons?"

It was a stupid question. Sam wanted the demon plan blown out of the water as much as Dean did, even moreso. Jumping on board with angels who wanted to kill Anna and send Dean back to the Pit didn't seem the best way to go.

Then there was the underlying fear that Dean wasn't suggesting this because he wanted to keep the person away from demons. He could be nothing but a mouthpiece for the angel agenda and Sam would have no way of knowing.

He refused to think Dean was just acting all this time.

"Why doesn't Cas just go find it himself?"

"I don't know. Some kind of supernatural cloaking device. Kinda like that deal they have going on in Dixville. Angels and demons can't pick up his scent."

That was fantastic. So he and Dean were just being used. "How are we supposed to find it?"

"Monsters."

"Monsters," Sam repeated.

"Monsters. Cas said angels and demons can't figure out who the Watcher is, but monsters are all over this thing like pimples on an ass."

"That's disgusting."

"It is what it is."

There was one way to settle Dean's claim before they ran off on yet another distraction. Sam crossed over to the Impala's trunk and took out his laptop.

"What are you doing?"

"Checking to see if you're right."

"Dude, I'm always right."

Sam ignored him and pressed on the laptop. He had to admit the fact there was a newly formed werewolf pack in town was a convincing starting point. In the end, that was all it was: a starting point.

Despite the numbness in his fingers, Sam continued to type on his laptop. If Dean was right, then there should be a trail of monster sightings or attacks leading up to Brighton or within Brighton. Whatever shield was keeping the demons and angels away, might just be a homing beacon for supernatural creatures in a given radius.

He glanced up. Dean was leaning against the Impala, arms crossed, with his eyes shut. Sam was relieved he didn't look quite as pale, though there was no denying the exhaustion in his worn face. He had his doubts Dean was up to tackling this job at all.

The ping from his laptop bought Sam's attention back to his searches. News reports from the next town over mentioned a few missing persons, and the next beyond had a few brutal murders. Both had no leads. Other than the proximity, there was nothing that stood out as strange.

They didn't have time to waste finding patterns in the dead of night. One man would already have the jump on any monster sightings.

Sam took out his phone.

"Who ya callin'?" Dean had one eye cracked open.

"Bobby, it's Sam." Through the corner of his eyes, Sam saw Dean straighten. "I need your help on something."

"Shoot."

"Have you heard of any monster attacks or sightings in or around Brighton, New Jersey?"

"I thought you boys were hunting a ghost in Andover?"

"We got called in on a werewolf in Brighton. Heard of anything?"

"Got a map?"

Sam glanced at Dean and nodded.

The two of them flattened out a road map against the surface of the Impala's hood and put Bobby on speakerphone. While Bobby read off the reports from hunters who had been in touch with him, Sam used a black marker to circle each location. Dean mainly watched, leaning onto the Impala for support, though from the glimmer in Dean's eyes, Sam could tell he was keeping a running tally on everything Bobby listed.

"Huh," Bobby said. "Well, that ain't suspicious."

"They're converging on the center of town," Sam said. He almost didn't believe it himself.

"Whoever this Watcher is, he's in the heart of town." Dean pointed to the center of the map. "What's there?"

"Shops. Restaurants. Cafes." He regarded Dean. "Could be anything."

There was a gruff sound from the phone. "Wait, what's this Watcher business?"

Sam locked onto Dean. He seemed to hesitate, maybe from the fear of letting Bobby too close to his secret or maybe because of some other agenda, but in the end he finally nodded and relented.

"We got some intel on a person called the Watcher. Heard of it?" Sam asked.

"Vaguely. Something to do with a demon war." There was a pause on the end. "Aw, crap. What mess are you boys in this time?"

"Don't you worry. We got it covered," Dean added.

"The hell you do. Where'd you get this so-called intel?"

Sam let out a heavy sigh. "Castiel."

"Angels? You know this is a dumb move."

"Better than letting the demons nab him," Dean said.

The silence that followed spoke volumes. Dean wouldn't look Sam in the eyes, leaving Sam to stare at the quiet phone. Bobby's lack of faith and trust in anything he couldn't qualify was nearly as severe as John's, and they both weren't afraid to use a sharp tongue, but Bobby lacked the black and white edge their father had followed when he was alive. Sam could respect the breathing room Bobby gave them, even as he had grown to appreciate John's approach more and more.

"I suppose telling you this is a bad idea isn't gonna stop ya."

"We'll be careful," Sam assured him.

"You call me the minute something gets hairy."

"Will do," Dean said.

Sam shut the phone and turned to the map. The Watcher was located somewhere in that dead zone. Supernatural creatures of all kind would keep shrinking that bubble as they pressed inward, leaving him and Dean with little time to find this person. With no ideas where to start and the clock clicking against them, they didn't have many options.

He blew into his hands and rubbed them together again. "Aren't you cold?" Sam asked.

Dean's face grew sour. "Extra insulation."

Sam wouldn't bring it up again. "Did Cas give you any more information? A name? A business?"

"Nadda."

"That doesn't give us much to go on."

"Playing pick and choose is going to take forever," Dean said. "I say hit up one of these hotspots."

"The highest concentration of hits is on the east side of town," Sam said, tapping the street name. "The one closest to the center makes the most sense."

"All right. Let's go." Dean was already on his way to the driver's side door.

"I'm not sure that's the best idea."

"What? Oh, come on. We've been through this before. No way I'm staying behind."

"You're forgetting that people actually saw you-saw us-in town. Dean, the wings were in full view. There were at least a dozen or so witnesses." Sam hoped that the townspeople would forget the incident or be too embarrassed to talk about it. Out of sight, out of mind. That would all change if Dean kept showing up in public. "What if it happens again? Waltzing into town is going to give us a lot of unwanted attention."

"What am I supposed to do? Stay in the barn?" Dean muttered. "Not gonna happen, Sammy."

Spending all night in the cold arguing about whether Dean was going or not was pointless. Sam hated giving in, but he had other plans for Dean. Besides, leaving Dean completely alone in a barn outside of town wasn't the best choice. The last time he had left him alone back in Dixville had been a disaster.

"I'll investigate, and you'll keep lookout."

"Go it alone?' Dean scowled. "I don't think so. You gonna make me stay in the car?"

"No. I can't force you to do anything. But you know it's the most sensible thing to do."

Dean muttered something unintelligible under his breath. After a bit of theatrics, he finally nodded and upon seeing Sam jangle the keys, shuffled over to the passenger's side. After they packed up, both of them climbed in. Sam started the engine.

It was time to find out what this Watcher was all about.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Against his better judgment, Sam drove the Impala back into Brighton. They were about five minutes away from Harper's Field, one of the locations on the map. Sam wasn't quite sure what to expect - more werewolves, shifters, or something else - and the feeling threw him off center. He couldn't help but think he and Dean were caught up in another distraction.

Speaking of Dean…

Sam stole a glance to his right. Dean was dead to the world, his head resting against the window. He'd fallen asleep not two minutes out of the barn. The transformation had taken a lot out of him. To be honest, Sam was surprised he'd lasted as long as he had. It was obvious that the changes Dean went through had been in the works for months with all the food he'd been packing.

The recent changes brought with them a whole slew of new problems. Dean was hiding something-Sam was sure of it-and wasn't about to open up any time soon. All the Watcher talk made Sam uneasy. What errand had the angels sent Dean on this time? Why did they keep reaching out to Dean anyway? Sam didn't like the connection.

Ruby's warnings kept echoing through his mind.

People had said the same thing about him. The demon blood, the powers…but he was still Sam. And Dean was still Dean no matter what Ruby thought.

Their lives weren't normal and never would be. Sam had come to terms with that ages ago. It was about time Dean did as well.

But that didn't make them monsters.

"Hey," Sam said, patting Dean on the arm. "We're here."

Dean fumbled in his seat and rubbed at his eyes. For a second, he thought Dean would roll over and fall back asleep. His eyelids drooped, and through the slits of his eyes, there was nothing but fog. Sam struggled to find any glimmer of recognition lurking in there.

Sam put the car in park before he gave Dean a good shake. Dean jerked this time, nearly hitting his head. When the sleepiness faded from his face, he scowled at Sam.

No disgusting comment or anecdote, but Sam would cut his losses and take the scowl.

"I need you awake."

"I'm awake."

When Dean blinked a few times too many, Sam started to have doubts.

"I'm going to check the public bathrooms. Bobby said this place tested positive for some activity, but his contacts hadn't gotten back to him with specifics. Whatever it is had a taste for human flesh. Several bodies were found torn to pieces."

"Wait, and the cops didn't catch this?"

Sam shrugged. "Apparently, it doesn't matter as much if you're homeless or a prostitute."

Dean's face darkened considerably, but he held back any comments. "More claws?"

"Could be. But if your Watcher theory pans out, it could be any number of things."

"Awesome," Dean muttered. "And I'm benched."

"Just keep watch. I'll be back in a few."

Sam shut the door, grabbed some supplies from the truck, and crossed the yellow tape into the park. The moon, poking in and out of fresh cloud cover, helped Sam navigate through the barren park. Life was still, aside from a black crow perched on the branch of a large elm, and two confused squirrels scurrying out of his way into the bushes. Everything else was quiet.

Sam rolled his shoulders as wind nipped at his neck. The periodic shivers attempted to throw his focus, and the snow crunching under his feet didn't help the element of surprise.

He pressed forward.

The car grew smaller as Sam headed into the park. He still could see Dean sitting in the Impala and imagined his sour face and mumbles as he had guard duty. Suited him right. It would make up for the joke he'd played back in Augusta.

Still no monster in sight.

Sam inhaled. The rush of icy air burned his lungs, but made him feel alive. He slipped into the public bathrooms.

The room had seen better days. Mold clung to the walls and everything smelled of piss and rancid burritos. There were chunks of God knew what under the sinks. Why anyone would want to get off in a place like this Sam would never know.

The CDC didn't have enough firepower to sterilize this germ battlefield.

Sam pushed the urge to wash his hands and continued toward the stalls. He kicked in the first one. Nothing. He kicked in the second. A clogged toilet. He kicked in the third. Unmentionables. He kicked in-

"Hi, Sam."

Sam spun around, gun drawn and ready, to find Ruby standing with her arms crossed.

He lowered his gun. "Why are you here?"

"Glad to see you, too."

"No, that's not-" He sighed. "Dean is right outside in the car. He could see you."

"Dean's not there."

Sam's insides ground to a halt. "What?"

"Your idiot brother isn't in the Impala."

Sam pushed by Ruby, ignored her protests, and broke back into the frigid night. While he kept all of his senses on alert, he rushed back to the Impala. Sure enough, the passenger side was empty and there was no sign of Dean.

"Dammit."

He knew how important it was to stay in the car. Dean was too unstable and worn down to be out hunting, not to mention that anyone would be able to spot him with or without those wings.

"You know, I'm tired of being your dirty little secret." Ruby saddled up beside him. "You're either in or you're out. There's no middle ground."

"Not now." He took out his cell phone and dialed Dean's number. Straight to voicemail and no immediate ring.

Sam had been out of earshot for six minutes. Dean couldn't have disappeared that fast.

"I did a little search on your problem," she said.

"Did you find anything to help him?" Sam scanned the park again. No footprints. Nothing.

"No, but I have a few more favors I can cash in. Might help if you threw me a bone."

Sam frowned. "I told you. I don't know what happened to him. He knows something, and he ain't talking." He stole a glance before he continued his search. "But you're right. It's angels."

"I knew it, Sam. I knew this was going to be trouble."

"I got in under control. Just-just find something to stop whatever is happening to him."

Ruby didn't answer yes or no, but Sam knew her well enough to understand her tacit agreement. "Why are you back in town?" she asked instead, walking with him as he cased the park. "I thought the two of you were hightailing out of here after Tweety starting paraded around his wings."

Sam scanned the side street where they'd parked as well as the immediate area. He could hear some hoots and clicks, but nothing else. "We're finishing a job with monsters," he said without looking at her. "Then we're gone."

"There's more to that story."

"Ruby, I need to find Dean." He didn't have time for chit-chat. "Check left. I'll go right."

"I didn't pop by to play hide and seek."

Sam shot her a look that meant end of discussion.

She rolled her eyes and headed left. As Sam turned right, he kept his gun drawn. The park looked normal for winter: leafless trees, frozen ground, dried out bushes. Not a soul was in sight, not a werewolf, vampire, or Dean.

Where was he?

This was the second time Dean had disappeared within twenty-four hours. Was it Castiel again? What the hell was going on?

The questions struck him over and over again, like a carousel stuck in an indefinite loop. Sam mulled over possible answers as he did another sweep of the park.

Something small crunched under Sam's foot. He lifted his boot.

A dead bug. Several of them.

Crap. He knew what had taken all those people.

"Ruby! Watch out for-"

The rakshasa slammed him into a nearby tree. Sam braced himself against the monster. The creature had already shifted into human form, though the black feathers that rained down around him were hallmarks of its previous shape.

Its hot breath, laced with stale peppermint, made Sam nauseous. He pushed harder, sharp teeth close to his arm. Sam had battled many things. He wasn't about to let another rakshasa get to him.

The brass clip on his belt. If he could only reach it.

The rakshasa grinned, the twinkle of understanding reaching his eyes. He ripped off the clip and tossed it.

And then the rakshasa disappeared.

Sam's face fell slack. That hadn't been part of the plan.

Sucking in a deep breath, Sam summoned the rest of his strength and went at the invisible rakshasa with full force. He rammed his elbow straight ahead and when the force pinning him gave way, he leveled a crunching blow to what he thought was its face.

Sam made a dive for the clip.

A hard blow hit his back. Dammit. Sam hit the hard ground, the clip jerking out of his hands.

His lungs burned, ribs pressing harder against his organs. Sam fumbled over the dead patches of grass for the clip. He didn't care how he got it or how he used it, as long as he could ram the thing in its body.

Spots danced before his eyes.

He wasn't about to give up now. He hadn't worked all this time to die alone in a park.

The invisible force knocked his head to the side. The world tipped, bringing with it a soft buzzing that urged Sam to sleep. He bit it down and spit blood.

Then it was over.

The air rushed into his lungs and Sam gasped. When he turned over, Ruby was standing above him, brass clip wound around his dagger. The blood of the rakshasa dripped from the tip.

"Thanks," he said, rising to his feet.

"I save your life and all I get is 'thanks?'" Ruby tossed the knife into the bushes. "You know how to a charm a girl, Sam."

"Think nothing of it."

Ruby rolled her eyes, but underneath the snark he saw her smile.

"Rakshasa," Sam had to admit he was surprised. He hadn't seen one in over two years. They were rare in the States to begin with, but he couldn't shake the feeling maybe Castiel's information on the Watcher and monsters held some weight.

"Two kinds of monsters in the same town?" Ruby shook her head. "It just gets better and better."

"Tell me about it." He gave her a side glance. "Any ideas?"

She shrugged. "Monsters aren't really my thing, but if I had to guess, something is drawing them here. Otherwise, they'd be killing each other."

In all likelihood, the Watcher was pulling them closer. So, where was the end point? Where were they converging? He and Dean were going to need more information if they were to find the Watcher before every monster in town did.

Dean.

Sam surveyed the park. There still was no sign of his brother. The rakshasa couldn't have gotten to him. There hadn't been enough time.

Even if Sam could convince himself that were true, it did nothing to erase the growing fear that something serious had happened.

"Dean!"

The sound of Ruby sighing snapped him out of his search.

"He distracts you, Sam. Look at you."

He was standing in a park in the dead of winter at four in the morning. When he breathed, pain flared through his lungs from the bruises on his back, while a persistent throbbing had begun in his jaw.

Sam sighed. As much as he didn't want to admit it, Ruby was right. He should be hunting down seals, and instead he was hunting down a Watcher. While hunting down monsters to find a Watcher, he was looking for Dean. When would it end?

"It doesn't matter. We'll sort it out later. Right now, I have to find him."

"He's not here."

"So, we'll look for him."

"You're not listening to me. He's not _here_." She waved her arm in a circle. "I don't sense him anywhere."

Dread dropped in Sam's stomach like a lead sink. "Where is he?"


End file.
